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“Really?” Another throat clearing. “I mean, sure, if that’s your thing. Unless you really love bookkeeping, though, you should consider hiring someone.”
She sighed. “I know. It’s just that all the details are up here.” She tapped her forehead. “What this receipt was for. Why I needed to buy that. I worry that I’d spend as much time explaining it as just doing it myself.”
“Not with a good bookkeeper. Once they have a handle on your cash flow and regular expenses, you don’t need to tell them specifics.” He pulled a receipt from the pile. “Two recent young adult novels. Someone might think these were just for reading, and not a legitimate expense, but a bookkeeper would understand that you’re conducting market research.”
He was actually dead-on, and here was the conundrum of Chris, the reason Daphne couldn’t dismiss him, the reason she’d found herself getting an emergency haircut and manicure yesterday.
She could say she was attracted to him only because he was, well, hot. She could even joke about this being her new prerogative as a successful single author. Guys in her position routinely showed up for events with a starry-eyed young thing who could barely spell “bestseller.” Therefore, she was entitled to lust after Chris.
Yet that had never been her thing. Never would be. If that was all Chris was, she could easily dismiss him as eye candy. Every now and then, though, she caught glimpses of something more. Of a guy who could carry on a deep conversation. Of a guy who was sweet and thoughtful and a little bit goofy.
Like now, when he’d picked up that receipt and known exactly why she bought the books. An insight that shouldn’t come from a guy who thought commas went wherever they looked good.
Show me more of that, she thought, and as soon as she did, another part of her whispered, And then what?
Oh, she had some answers for that. So many answers, most involving positions, and a few involving toys. But there were other answers, too, the meaningful ones that would slide in after the fun. Intense conversation, sharing ideas, comparing interests.
She wouldn’t be the superior bitch who declared there weren’t any intellectual depths to Chris. Even if there weren’t, it didn’t mean they couldn’t find common ground.
There was common ground. She thought he was hot… and he agreed.
Daphne choked back a laugh. For some people, that’d be enough, at least short term. But she’d never been that person.
She closed her laptop. “We should probably get to bed.”
The words came out before she could process them, proving it was definitely past talking time.
“Yeah, big day tomorrow,” Chris said.
And that was it. She’d accidentally lobbed a ball straight at him, and he hadn’t even lifted a hand to catch it. Guess that answered any questions. Not that she should be entertaining any.
“What time does the crew get in again?” he asked. “One?”
“The flight lands at one. They should be here by two.”
He nodded. “Okay, well, let me know what needs doing in the morning. Chores or whatever. I’m here to help.”
There was no bravado to those words. They weren’t Let me know if I can carry anything heavy for you, little missy. They didn’t sound like an empty and offhand suggestion, either. A genuine and very sweet offer of help, and it was like those glimpses of a smart and insightful guy. What the hell was she supposed to do with that?
Nothing. That’s what she was supposed to do with it. Be glad he seemed willing to help out, and just hope that interest didn’t fade once the vacuum cleaner came out.
“Good night, Chris,” she said.
He lifted a finger. “Zane. For the next two days, I only answer to Zane.”
She smiled. “Fair point. Good night, Zane.”
“Good night, D.”
Daphne couldn’t sleep. She tried to tell herself it was because she was in her damned guest room, but that was just grumbling. Everything in her environment was fine. Comfy bed. Perfect temperature. Complete darkness courtesy of the blackout blinds. Complete silence from living in the middle of nowhere. Tika lay beside her, radiating comfort and security.
The problem was her writer’s brain. She’d been halfway through a new scene when Chris decided he wanted to watch her write. Now, every time her brain started drifting, it replayed that unfinished scene, and with each iteration, it blossomed a little more. At first, it was only a mental outline—Theo on patrol when she spotted what turned out to be a fox… which started lurching her way, and she realized it wasn’t rabies, but something much worse: the first infected animal.
While Daphne had finished the first draft of the sequel to Edge, it needed something more, and this was her main revision. Was it weird to be excited about your own ideas? Maybe, but she’d been jonesing to write this since she had the epiphany a few days ago.
Daphne tossed and turned enough that ever-patient Tika started to grumble. When the poor dog finally decided she’d rather sleep on the floor, Daphne gave up, pulled on track shorts and an oversize tee, and tiptoed upstairs, wincing as Tika’s nails clicked behind her.
At the top of the stairs, Daphne glanced around the corner toward the main bedroom. The door was closed. With an exhale of relief, she ducked into the kitchen and warmed milk in the microwave, being careful to hit Stop before it dinged. Then she made hot cocoa and took it to her writing spot.
